Safe
by MissAppropriation
Summary: The Master gets himself captured by Daleks and the Doctor comes to the rescue, as expected. Absolutely my favorite thing I've written for this series so far. Characters: Tiny Master, War Doctor. Gen. Time War Team Series: Part 5.


You know when you write something, and you look at it once it's done... And it's _exactly_ what you wanted it to be?

That's this fic.

Enjoy! :) :)

* * *

**Safe**

The Master skidded to a halt as he rounded the corner.

_More_ Daleks.

He turned back to the third branch of the Y-shaped junction and ran face-to-eyestalk with another group of the death machines.

He backed away a couple of steps and spun around slowly, his brain hitting overdrive.

_Surrounded._

Where was the Doctor?

Nearby, probably.

_But not near enough..._

He was on his own.

He raised his hands and smiled calmly through the terror.

"Well done," he congratulated his enemies. "You've captured a Time Lord. And," he added, trying not to sound too hurried, "even better: a Time Lord who knows the Doctor."

The Dalek behind him poked at his back with its sucker arm, nearly knocking him over, while the one in front rolled closer, eyestalk focused intensely on his face.

Could they tell if he was lying? Maybe. They liked to keep adding features.

Luckily, unlike the Doctor, the Master didn't rely on lies to fool his enemies. Generally, a version of the truth would do, if you could just find the right angle.

"Information," he offered, trying to ignore how intimidating they seemed from his current vantage point. What he wouldn't give for a couple more feet of height... "For my life."

"Daleks do not bargain," one of them ground out disdainfully.

"Sure you do," the Master tried. "You'd do _anything_ for information on the Doctor."

They looked at each other, considering.

He put his hands down, as if the conversation was over. Sometimes that worked. "Kill me and that information goes away."

Dalek body language was hard to read... But they seemed to have reached a decision. Still no sign of the Doctor... So hopefully that decision was in his favor.

"So," the Master asked, "do we have a deal?"

There was a nerve-wracking pause.

"No," the Dalek declared.

The Master felt a sharp flash of pain and dismay and then everything went dark.

He had just a millisecond of consciousness in which to wonder if this was death... Again.

_Wake up! _his brain screamed.

But he couldn't. Unconsciousness mired him, subduing his struggles to escape.

_Wake up wake up wake up!_

_You're going to __die__!_

But there was still a chance.

He couldn't do anything himself but... This time he wasn't the only player on the board.

"Wake up," a voice insisted.

Some time had passed, although he wasn't sure how much...

"Come on, you can do it," the voice encouraged.

Everything was blurry, his senses fogged with whatever they'd used to knock him out.

But the comfortingly familiar voice seemed to think he could do it.

"Wake up."

The Master clawed his way out of the blackness with an effort.

... And found himself blinking up at a very welcome face.

"Hello there," the Doctor said, relief flooding his battle-worn features. "Back with us?"

The Master gazed up at his friend. His head was still swimming but he wasn't afraid anymore.

Because if the Doctor was here then everything had worked out...

The plan had been a success.

But now the Doctor had an eager, concerned look creeping back into his eyes as the silence dragged on.

_What did he want, exactly?_

It was so hard to tell with the Doctor...

The Master tried to focus but got distracted by the Doctor's beard. A clear attempt at copying him, although the Doctor would never admit it... He did have such an ego sometimes.

However, he frequently forgot to do any maintenance on his facial hair and so he basically just ended up looking ridiculous most of the time.

The Master stared up at his friend's silly face and laughed, though it came out a bit weak. "Stupid Doctor..." he muttered happily.

The Doctor smiled. "Alright, then," he chuckled. "That's a good sign."

The Master wasn't quite caught up... His thoughts were spinning in lazy circles. He opened his eyes again, though he hadn't realized he'd closed them... And saw only a blank ceiling overhead.

He felt a wave of panic. Had the Doctor really left him alone? Was it something he'd said?

A quick experimental attempt at getting upright revealed that couldn't move. He wouldn't be able to get out on his own...

The Doctor wouldn't just _leave_ him here... Would he?

"Doctor?" he called out. His voice sounded pathetic, even to himself.

But then the Doctor was back and he didn't care how he'd sounded. Because it had _worked_.

Pride was a cold and hollow luxury... One which the Master could seldom afford these days.

"Still here, don't worry," the Doctor reassured him, resting a hand against his cheek for just a moment. "Just fixing a few things. Stay put for a second."

_As if he had a choice..._

The Master attempted a scornful eyeroll. It didn't go very well but hopefully the Doctor was too distracted to notice.

He could hear the Doctor behind him, muttering to himself and messing about with machinery. He wanted to turn his head to look but his body refused to behave.

So he stared at the ceiling and tried to remember what was going on.

_Daleks._

That's all he came up with.

And that wasn't good.

Then the Doctor was back in his field of vision again.

The Master had a million questions.

_What happened?_

_Where are we?_

_How do we get out?_

_What did you just do?_

_Are we about to die?_

He couldn't pick one so he ended up saying nothing.

"Let's get these disconnected," the Doctor said, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and turning it towards the Master's head. "Won't hurt a bit."

He felt a sharp pain, then another, and another.

"_Ow_!" the Master protested when he found his voice.

"Sorry," the Doctor said unhelpfully. "All done now."

The Master glowered at him suspiciously but it seemed to be true, this time.

"Let's make sure you're alright," the Doctor said then. "Just relax."

The Doctor put a hand to his head and established a psychic connection. The Master waited patiently while the Doctor blundered about, checking the Master's memories, his mental state.

The details of what and why escaped him.

He couldn't concentrate enough to follow so he just watched the Doctor's face as the Doctor traveled through his brain.

Satisfied, the Doctor opened his eyes again. "Just in time, I think," he said and there was a ghost of fear in his eyes. His hand stayed on the Master's cheek a moment, then he reached up to ruffle his hair.

The Master generally found this habit very annoying but he didn't especially mind right now.

The Daleks had likely planned to do a lot more than just mess up his hair.

The Master frowned, picking up on something the Doctor had said a minute ago. "Why wouldn't I be alright?" he asked slowly.

The Doctor hesitated, seemingly unsure of whether or not to answer this question. "The Daleks were going to drain your memories," he said eventually. "Apparently they decided you might know something useful." He gave the Master a sharp look. "You wouldn't know how they came to that conclusion, would you?"

The Master thought back and remembered how he'd rather brilliantly escaped certain death. He wondered why the Doctor was looking at him so reproachfully... Until he realized that he was grinning smugly.

The Doctor just stood there, shaking his head. His expression was somehow amused, angry and disappointed all at once.

The Master was pretty sure the Doctor didn't used to make that face before the Time War...

Or wait...

Had he?

He _had_.

Just not at the Master.

That had been a long time ago and those memories were tied up with things he wasn't really prepared to deal with right now. Things about family. And about where he fell in that hierarchy at present.

He pushed it away.

"It worked," the Master said, managing a slight shrug. "You'd rather I died?"

"Oh, of course not, don't be ridiculous," the Doctor said, waving it off in obvious amusement. He moved to release what appeared to be clear manacles strapping the Master to the table. "You nearly did anyway, though. So. Not your best plan."

"Well," the Master pointed out critically, "if you hadn't wandered off - _again _\- I wouldn't have _needed_ a plan."

"Ah," the Doctor stopped at the foot of the operating table, holding up a forefinger, "I think, if you'll recall, _you_ are the one who wandered off."

The Master frowned. The events leading up to his capture were still a bit foggy but... There's no way the Doctor hadn't been the one to wander off. He was always doing that.

"No," he said with certainty. "It was definitely you."

"Hmm," the Doctor grunted. "Still having some memory loss it seems," he muttered.

"My hearing's just fine, though, thanks," the Master snapped.

The Doctor chuckled and reached out to pick up his friend. "Alright, up you come."

The Master settled his head against the Doctor's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his friend's neck. He was woozy from whatever the Daleks had done and the world was spinning unpleasantly every time he moved.

He felt the Doctor's hand against his forehead. "Doing alright?"

"Yeah..." the Master muttered. "Just... Dizzy."

"Right," the Doctor said sympathetically. "Let's not hang about here then. Short walk back to the TARDIS."

The dizziness passed and the Master turned to look back at the table he'd been lying on moments ago. Sinister, needle-sharp wires spidered down at the head of the bed, extending to a large, complex bank of specialized equipment.

In other circumstances, the Master would have wanted to stop and study the device. He'd always been of the opinion that if your enemies defeated you because you refused to learn from their advances, then it really sort of served you right.

But right now he was dizzy and tired and just wanted to go home.

Being a child was strange that way. It put things in a new perspective, both literally and figuratively.

As an adult, he would have had more leeway to prioritize his wants and needs. As a child, needs refused to be ignored.

It was irksome.

He was beginning to get used to it, though.

His eyes traveled to a nearby computer bank, beeping rhythmically. Of course... The Doctor had set the base to self-destruct. It wouldn't do to leave information and equipment like that available for the Daleks to use later.

He turned his head... To find he was staring straight at a Dalek. He yelped in surprise.

The Doctor spun around to see what had startled him and the world kept spinning violently for a minute, as if the whole base had become a particularly sadistic carnival ride.

He felt the Doctor's hand on his back and after a few moments realized the Doctor was talking again. "It's fine, it's dead. Sorry, should have warned you. You'll be seeing a few more like that. Don't worry though, I got them all."

"How many?" the Master asked, once everything had calmed down again and the world was mostly still.

They were walking now, gray corridors retreating in his view over the Doctor's shoulder.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," the Doctor evaded.

The Master grimaced. They had a running tally of how many Daleks each had killed and the Doctor was far, far ahead. "How many?" he asked again.

"Just twenty-four," the Doctor said. "They brought you to the nearest scientific outpost. Fortunately almost deserted."

The Master shook his head and regretted it instantly as the world became unsteady again.

Twenty-four Daleks was _not_ "almost deserted."

Entire planets had lost to _one_ Dalek.

The Master's eyes lingered on one of the death machines as they passed. Its casing was in pieces, sparks flying from the exposed wiring inside.

He laughed quietly to himself.

The Doctor had done all this on his own.

_That_ was why it had been a good plan.

Because put the Doctor up against any number of Daleks and the Doctor would _always_ win.

He hugged the Doctor closer, smirking at their dead enemies. He may not be the man he used to be but right now he felt very powerful indeed.

It was nice being best friends with the one man in the Universe who could never lose to the Daleks.

"Dumb Daleks," he snickered. "You messed with the _wrong_ Time Lord."

"Oh, yes," the Doctor agreed mildly. "You certainly showed them who's boss."

The Master rolled his eyes. "I meant _you_, idiot."

There was a pause. "Oh," the Doctor said, sounding surprised.

"Oh!" the Master mocked, doing a purposefully-terrible imitation of the Doctor's voice. "I'm the Doctor, I'm so amazing but I don't even notice."

"I'm confused," the Doctor said, sounding exactly that. "Are you complimenting me or insulting me?"

"I can do both," the Master assured him casually. He raised a finger to point at the remains of another Dalek as they passed. "Ha!" he jeered. "Supreme beings, huh? You got beaten by _one_ _idiot_. With a _screwdriver_!"

"I didn't defeat them with a screwdriver," the Doctor corrected him. "That would be ridiculous."

"I bet you _could_, though," the Master said. He fished around in the Doctor's coat and pulled out the sonic screwdriver, regarding it thoughtfully. "You really should upgrade this thing."

"What would be the point of that?" the Doctor asked, taking it back and replacing it in his pocket. "It does exactly what it's supposed to do."

As if a "sonic screwdriver" was _supposed_ to do anything. It had been nonsense from the day the Doctor had created it.

But it was brilliant. And held an enormous amount of potential...

"You could blow up so much stuff with that thing," the Master mused. "A little extra software... Sonic tech can do a lot more than just open doors, you know."

"It's not a weapon," the Doctor pointed out. "It's a screwdriver. Blowing stuff up is what these are for," he said, holding up his gun.

"Oh, yeah," the Master said, seizing on the opportunity to switch to one of his favorite topics. "And by the way, I'm still not clear on how you killing Daleks means you're _not_ the Doctor."

The Doctor sighed. "This again?"

It was an ongoing argument between them. The Master had more-or-less given up on breaking through his friend's psychological block about his own identity. But that wouldn't stop him from pointing out the blatant absurdity of it every chance he got.

"I mean..." the Master said, ignoring the Doctor's unwillingness to discuss the topic. "When has the Doctor _not_ killed Daleks? What would _that _look like?" He stopped long enough to show the Doctor that he was trying to imagine this scenario. He couldn't even picture it. "You've been fighting the Daleks since basically _forever_. How is this different again?"

He didn't get an answer so he sat up to grab the Doctor's face with both hands and turn it towards him. "Are you _even listening_?" he demanded emphatically.

The Doctor smiled serenely. "I am, yes." The Master let him go to anchor his arms back around the Doctor's neck and lay his head down, still woozy and slightly regretting his own enthusiasm. "Although you're taking your time getting to the point. As always."

"The _point_ is..." the Master started, then paused. What had been the point again?

"You forgot where you were going with all that, didn't you?" the Doctor remarked with what might have been pity.

"No," the Master muttered uncomfortably into the Doctor's coat collar. "The point is... You're an idiot," he summarized.

"You've been calling me a lot of names," the Doctor said, sounding vaguely hurt. "I did save your life just now."

The Master shrugged. He was pretty sure someone should call the Doctor an idiot. Just for context. He'd destroyed an entire battalion of Daleks all on his own... And not for the first time. It wouldn't do for him to get above himself. One of these days he'd inevitably realize how amazing he was. And he probably wouldn't handle that too well.

But the Master was perfectly happy to be the one to provide a little dose of reality whenever needed.

"Stop being an idiot and I'll stop calling you one," he grinned. It was an entirely foolproof bargain.

The Doctor sighed and shook his head. "You need to be more careful," he said after a moment. His voice was quiet, like he didn't even want to bring it up.

"I'm careful," the Master responded, blinking sleepily. He was always careful. The Doctor was the one who didn't understand how to take care of himself.

"Getting captured by Daleks is not... Ideal," the Doctor pointed out understatedly.

The Master shrugged, unperturbed. "It was bound to happen at some point." It was a War. Against Daleks. Getting captured was the best option in some situations. "I just had to stall long enough for you to find me."

"Yes, but..." The Doctor's voice faltered and the Master waited for him to find the words. "What if I _hadn't_?"

The Master smiled confidently. "I knew you would."

A pause. "It wasn't easy."

The Master chuckled. "I'm sure it wasn't." He couldn't imagine how difficult that task must have been.

"I was nearly too late," the Doctor reminded him, his voice catching slightly.

"But you weren't," the Master replied simply.

"I was worried," the Doctor said at last.

_Finally._

It had taken him a while to get there.

The Doctor had the most roundabout thought processes. Sometimes it took him several passes to circle back to what he really meant.

Then the Master blinked, coming to his own realization. "... I wasn't."

He hadn't even doubted. Not for a second.

That was... New.

The Doctor didn't seem to share this newfound conviction.

"You _should_ have been," the Doctor said reproachfully.

The Master shook his head slowly, pondering two destroyed Daleks who had apparently blown each other up. "I don't think so," he responded.

The Master was used to looking after himself, his own life, his own interests. No one else could be trusted. And even with all the work and planning he put in, things inevitably went wrong sometimes.

But he hadn't planned _any_ part of his own rescue. He'd done what he could to stall but beyond that he had simply trusted the Doctor to figure out the rest.

So, had he been wrong to take that approach?

It was _different_ but... It seemed he'd been right. Because here he was, safe and sound.

That made him uncomfortable.

Being right generally didn't make him feel uncomfortable.

But he also didn't generally risk relying on others, especially when it was quite this important.

Well... It was the Doctor, after all. It's not as if he was depending on some random stranger to save his life.

This was _the Doctor_. He was the best at saving people. He did it all the time, even when it was the stupidest possible move. And sometimes it was very, very annoying... But today the Master had found a way to utilize this trait with total success.

That felt pretty good.

The Master concluded that he could live with making one very well-chosen exception.

Because that was just the Doctor, really. Make any sweeping statement and the Doctor would _always_ be the exception.

The Doctor had gone very quiet. The Master almost wondered if the conversation was over although he sensed the Doctor had more to say.

"Please don't do that again," the Doctor said eventually. "I think I lost a decade of my lifespan when I realized they'd taken you."

"Really?" the Master smiled delightedly. He raised his head to see if the Doctor was serious. The Doctor stopped walking and gave the Master a look that was hard to read. But he definitely seemed sincere. "Aww," the Master said happily, "that's nice."

"It's _nice_?" the Doctor said incredulously. "_Nice_ that I'm ten years closer to death after today?"

The Master nodded, smiling, deeply touched. "Mmhmm!"

The Doctor huffed grumpily and started walking again. "You're impossible to talk to."

"So stop talking," the Master said, closing his eyes and settling back against the Doctor's shoulder contentedly.

"You keep talking to _me_!" the Doctor protested.

"You don't need to answer," the Master retorted.

The Doctor scoffed. "And just let you monologue about what an idiot I am? No, thank you."

The Master giggled. "Ha. You _are_ an idiot," he said. "Idiot." He reached up to pat the back of the Doctor's head fondly.

"I think I preferred the days when you were _trying_ to kill me," the Doctor said, his tone lighter now. "At least that would have been quicker. Any chance we could go back to that?"

"Nope," the Master smirked, eyes closed tightly against the unfriendly world. "I've fine-tuned the process. This way is much more fun."

Fighting Daleks together and having the Doctor worry about his safety had resulted in far better quality time with his friend than fighting over planets ever had.

He wished he'd thought of this earlier. He vaguely wondered if he would have started a Time War himself if he'd known...

Might have been worth it, honestly.

Could he have tricked the Doctor into working with him long-term to save all of Time and Space? It would certainly have taken some planning...

His thoughts drifted as he weighed the pros and cons of risking all of reality to hang out with the Doctor.

Then an alarm went off in his brain, rousing him from his idle war-planning.

A fizzle. A buzzing.

The scrape of metal against metal.

His eyes snapped open just in time to see the Dalek next to them raising its gun attachment.

"Doctor," he said, urgently patting one hand against his friend's leather coat to get his attention. "Doctor, Doctor, Doctor!"

"Exxxxxx..." the Dalek ground out with the determination of pure hatred.

The Doctor didn't give it a chance to finish.

The Dalek gurgled a scream as it exploded in a shower of sparks.

The Master slumped back down with a dramatic sigh of relief, then reached up to smack the Doctor in the head. The gesture was feeble and probably hadn't hurt at all so he tried the verbal approach.

"Oh, got them all, did you?" he chided.

He felt the Doctor shrug. "I have now."

The Master grumbled, shaking his head. Generic stuff about idiots and what "dead" means and learning to count properly.

Emergency over, the Master was drifting again. He thought about the Doctor's maddening inability to finish what he'd started, of his imprecision, of how annoying it was that he still always managed to win anyway.

Of how nice it was to have all that on his side.

"I hate you, Doctor," he mumbled.

It sounded different than it had in his head.

He frowned and cracked his eyes open, a sneaking suspicion nagging at him that one of those words hadn't been _quite_ what he'd intended to say.

So he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep so the Doctor wouldn't ask him any unpleasant questions.

"You too, old friend," the Doctor said softly.

The Master didn't hear him. His ruse had quickly become reality.

The next time the Master opened his eyes, he was in the TARDIS.

His boots were nearby on the floor and he was in bed, wrapped warmly in a blanket.

He turned over to see the Doctor was there next to him, fast asleep.

It really must have been a difficult day... The Doctor rarely wasted time sleeping.

The Master reached out a hand to his friend's face, checking to see if he was alright.

No nightmares today... That was good.

The Doctor stirred in his sleep and threw an arm protectively over his friend.

The Master closed his eyes, thoroughly content.

He hadn't lived the most stable life... His first emergency regeneration had been when he was scarcely more than a child. Then, a few incarnations later, the Time Lords had stolen his remaining regenerations and attempted to execute him for his crimes.

They'd failed, naturally.

After that had been a prolonged and frantic scramble for continued existence, using any and all loopholes he could find or invent.

It hadn't been especially pleasant.

And then, of course, there was that time he'd _actually_ died...

It had seemed a fitting end to the story, in a way.

Impossibly, it hadn't been the end at all, thanks to a certain magical blue box.

Now, the Master was a child again. In many ways, more so than he'd ever been the first time around.

No one had taken care of him in his first childhood. He'd had to look after himself. He'd thought that was fine, at the time. Good, even. It had taught him quickly what the Universe was like: uncaring, indifferent, always waiting for an opportunity to take advantage, to tear you down.

He'd learned well.

He'd been quick and organized, cleverer than the others around him who were also looking out for their own interests. He'd learned to foresee the obstacles ahead and plan for contingencies in case things went wrong.

It hadn't quite been _living_.

It had been _survival_.

Until recently, he hadn't truly understood that there was a difference.

All his planning had been necessary but had never once provided any real security... He'd never been able to relax, always looking back over his shoulder for enemies and ahead for potential disasters.

He'd thought his paranoia was wisdom. And sometimes, it was.

It had kept him alive. Just barely. Always at a cost.

A relentlessly uneasy existence which he'd come to take for granted because he hadn't ever known anything else.

It wasn't until the Time War that he'd realized what it meant to feel _safe_.

And that was all thanks to the Doctor.

_Safety_ wasn't real. It was fiction, an illusion, a comforting lie the masses told themselves to avoid the stark reality of their own headlong rush towards death.

Or so the Master had thought.

But, as he often did, it seemed he'd forgotten to factor the Doctor into his calculations...

The Doctor's stubbornness. His unpredictability. His refusal to be limited by any of the restrictions the Universe attempted to impose upon him.

_Safety_ might be a lie... But if anyone could turn lies into truth, it was the Doctor.

The Master snuggled closer to his friend and went back to sleep, content in the knowledge that he'd found the solution to another Universal problem.

He had no intention of sharing this discovery with any of the foolish mayflies struggling to find a still point in the chaos, a semblance of peace, a fleeting moment of security in a world which wanted only to kill you the first chance it got.

No... This wasn't for them.

This was all his.

They'd search in vain, living and dying without ever knowing what the Master had figured out.

Safety was rare indeed... But it was _real_.

You just had to know where to look.

The Doctor's arms... Safest place in the Universe.

_The End_


End file.
